Where Words Fail, Music Speaks
by SherlockianWhovian
Summary: Sherlock grew up copying his older brother, including learning to play his brother's violin.
1. Chapter 1

"I wasn't expecting this." John said with raised eyebrows as he walked forward into a room full of musical instruments.

The Consulting Detective and his blogger had been forced to leave Baker Street after a security alert and were temporarily, and rather reluctantly, staying in Mycroft's grand townhouse across the city. The government official had encouraged them to make themselves at home while he was at work and they'd done exactly that. Sherlock had led the way on a tour of the house, exploring every inch of the place.

"Why not? You know that I play the violin." Sherlock replied, walking in and lifting a priceless Stradivarius from its stand.

"I didn't think that Mycroft would have time for music." John admitted, looking around.

"I doubt he has time to play nowadays, but in our youth he dedicated most of his time to learning to play music. He is an accomplished musician." Sherlock replied, gently tuning the old violin.

John sat down on the bench beside the grand piano, running his hand over the perfectly polished lid that hid the keys from view. "Do you know the full list of the instruments that he can play?" he asked curiously.

"He plays the piano, the cello, the violin, the viola, the double bass, the flute, the guitar, the mandolin and probably many more." Sherlock replied, lifting the ancient bow and placing it against the strings of the violin.

John closed his eyes as Sherlock began to play a careful, but no less lively rendition of a Bach violin solo.

After a couple of minutes of playing, Sherlock carefully placed the violin down on its stand, running his hand over the neck of the instrument. It was exquisitely carved and in pristine condition.

"Mycroft taught me to play the violin." Sherlock said, glancing over at John, "He was determined for me to enjoy music and after trying to teach me many instruments, I took to the violin."

"How long did it take for you to learn to play properly?" John asked.

"A year. Most take multiple years but I demanded that Mycroft teach me everything. I barely put the violin down and I insisted that he teach me during every one of his waking hours." Sherlock replied with a slight chuckle, remembering those happy days with his brother, "He was more than happy to teach me, although he barely slept for a year to help me to learn."

* * *

 _"Mycroft?" Sherlock said, walking over and sitting beside his brother on the piano bench._

 _Mycroft was playing a gentle symphony of his own composition. He brought it to a close and opened his eyes, allowing his mind to wake from its relaxed slumber. "Yes, little brother?" he replied._

 _"Why do you play the piano?" Sherlock asked, reaching out and pressing one of the keys._

 _"Playing music allows me to switch off my mind for a little while. It refreshes me." Mycroft replied, gently manipulating Sherlock's hand so he was in the correct position to play a chord._

 _"I want to switch off my mind too." Sherlock said, pressing down and playing the chord._

 _"Then I will teach you to play music." Mycroft replied with a smile, looking down at his small brother. He knew that if it weren't for the age difference, they'd be inseparable._

* * *

 _"I don't want to play that one anymore." Sherlock said, looking over at the guitar._

 _"Sherlock, you've gone through four instruments in as many weeks. Learning takes time." Mycroft sighed, gently plucking the strings of his violin as he spoke._

 _"Can I play that?" Sherlock asked, pointing at the violin._

 _"Okay, but this is the last one we're going to try." Mycroft replied with a sigh. He walked over and began to teach Sherlock how to hold the violin. Within an hour, Sherlock had mastered a basic tune and within two it was clear that Sherlock had found his instrument of choice._

* * *

 _"Mycroft! Mycroft!" Sherlock shouted as he threw open his brother's bedroom door._

 _Mycroft groaned as Sherlock jumped on him, looking up at his brother through bleary, sleep-filled eyes. "Sherlock? It's the middle of the night." he yawned._

 _"I want to show you something!" Sherlock replied, full of excitement and wide awake._

 _Mycroft yawned and slowly sat up, looking at his own violin that Sherlock had in his hand. "Okay, show me, but be quick. I have important exams tomorrow." he said._

 _Sherlock began to play a tune of his own making and Mycroft was soon wide-awake, reminding him about posture and correct finger positioning._

* * *

 _Just one short year later, Mycroft left for university. Sherlock was distraught that his brother and adviser in all matters had suddenly left him on his own. In a rage brought on by frustration and a feeling of betrayal, he destroyed Mycroft's violin. He snapped it into pieces and set it alight in the fireplace. Once the violin was gone, turned to ashes in the flames, Sherlock sat down. He was left with a feeling of emptiness. The violin had been Mycroft's but it had also been his own._

 _When Mycroft returned for Christmas after his first term at university, he knew that something was wrong._

 _Gone was the little boy clutching the violin as if it were a teddy bear and in his place was a still, silent and brooding boy._

 _Mycroft went to his bedroom and searched for the violin, desperate to appease Sherlock's anger towards him. When he couldn't find the instrument, he guessed what had happened. Sherlock had cast the violin aside as he'd also done Mycroft._

* * *

 _"I have something for you." Mycroft said as he stood outside of the latest rehab facility with his brother. It had taken multiple attempts and years to finally get Sherlock to give up his drug habit._

 _"Oh yes? What would that be?" Sherlock asked, lighting his cigarette, "You've already given me this vastly overpriced Belstaff."_

 _Mycroft opened the car door beside him and pulled out a violin case._

 _"I understand that this may be a sore subject for you, but you were very skilled." Mycroft said as an explanation, "Even if I never hear you play again, I want you to be able to play for yourself. Nothing cleanses the soul like music."_

 _"You don't deserve to hear my music. You are no brother of mine." Sherlock snapped, snatching the violin case and strolling away._

* * *

"Having a band rehearsal, are we?" Mycroft said with his usual condescending tone as he stood in the doorway of the music room.

John immediately stood up, feeling on edge and as though he'd been caught doing something dishonest.

"We were admiring your Stradivarius." Sherlock said without looking up at his brother, "How much was it?"

"Far too much." Mycroft chuckled a little, moving closer towards the priceless instrument, "You are welcome to it, it will be yours one day anyway. It is said to have a heavenly sound and to be a dream to play."

"You've never played it? Or even heard it played?" John asked in surprise, "But Sherlock told me that you taught him to play the violin?"

"Yes, well, that was some time ago. Things are different now." Mycroft replied, although his fingers twitched with his sudden need to hear the violin sing, "This is a collector's piece, a memento of a bygone era. It reminds me of all that I have lost."


	2. Chapter 2

It wasn't until days after Sherlock and John had returned to Baker Street that Mycroft found himself in the music room again. He rarely entered the room, preferring to keep it sealed. Music had once been an important part of his life and a part of him, but now he found that it was an annoying distraction. It was unusual that he had any sort of time away from his work, but when he did he liked to sit in silence to rest his racing mind.

With a sigh, Mycroft reached out to touch the Stradivarius. He'd bought the violin as an investment for Sherlock and he'd never planned on playing it himself. He carefully lifted the violin from its stand and brought it to rest beneath his chin. It had been years since he'd played a violin, but he knew that his skill was still as good as it had been. He lifted the bow from its place on the stand and brought it to rest on the strings as he adjusted his fingers on the neck of the violin.

He held his breath for a moment as he played a single note. The violin sang and vibrated beneath his fingers, a feeling he'd never expected to be able to enjoy again. He began by playing single notes, warming up his fingers before he began to play simple melodies. He'd once composed his own music, but he didn't dare to play anything too complex on the ancient violin.

After a good few minutes of playing the violin, Mycroft carefully placed it and the bow back onto the stand.

"You should continue playing, you know." came Sherlock's voice from the dark hallway.

Mycroft turned and opened the door fully, looking at his brother, "How long have you been out there?" he asked.

"The whole time. I wanted to see whether you'd play it." Sherlock replied.

Mycroft suddenly couldn't control the years of rage that had built up beneath his skin. "Did you enjoy it? Did you laugh?" he snarled, "I know that everything is a game to you, Sherlock, but my life isn't a game! Music was something that I loved, something that I enjoyed and you ripped it from me!"

"Are you still upset about that violin? I apologized for burning it at the time!" Sherlock shouted.

"Why can't you ever see what's right in front of you?" Mycroft snapped, "It wasn't just a violin! It was memories! I spent hours with you, Sherlock, and then I left to further my life, my career, and it was like I had never even acknowledged you! You burned me out of your life, Sherlock!"

"You left me! You walked away from me when I needed you!" Sherlock argued.

"What choice did I have, Sherlock?" Mycroft shouted, "If I'd stayed then I wouldn't have a life! I gave you every second of my time when we were growing up and did you really expect me to just trail after you when I could have been at Oxford?"

"I expected you to be my brother!" Sherlock hissed.

"I am your brother! Do you not understand how hard I work to protect you?" Mycroft demanded, "I can't sleep because I worry that someone will hurt you while I'm not at my desk!"

"You are sentimental. Your blood relation to me is the only thing that you're capable of feeling." Sherlock replied, his tone harsh.

"What would you have me do, Sherlock?" Mycroft sighed, "I have given my life to you. Everything in this house is an investment so that when I die, you may live comfortably. Everything I have done has been to protect you."

"I don't want or need your help, Mycroft. Go ahead and get yourself a life." Sherlock replied, turning and walking away.

* * *

At first, John didn't notice that Mycroft was no longer meddling in their lives. He didn't notice the lack of idling black cars or the lack of random visits. It wasn't until he called Anthea to ask for a case from Mycroft that he realized that something had been going on behind his back.

"Hi Anthea, does Mycroft have anything for Sherlock?" John asked hopefully, watching as his flatmate worked on an experiment in the kitchen.

" _Mr Holmes is currently on leave._ " Anthea replied.

"Oh. Okay. When will he be back?" John asked.

" _I can't say. He's saved up a lot of leave over the last 15 years, so he might be away for months._ " Anthea replied.

"Months? Is there something wrong? Is he unwell?" John asked worriedly.

" _No, Doctor Watson. He's just taking a break. Goodbye._ " Anthea responded, ending the call.

John looked down at his phone for a moment before he shook his head and walked over to Sherlock.

"Is something wrong with Mycroft? Anthea said he's on leave from work, possibly for months." John asked his flatmate.

"Just ignore him, John. He's being his usual awkward self. He'll be back to work in a couple of days, he won't be able to stay away." Sherlock replied, not looking up from his experiment.

* * *

It was one month later when Sherlock barged into Mycroft's home with John behind him.

"What are you playing at?" Sherlock demanded, "Do you not seeing what you're doing? The government is falling apart!"

Mycroft was sat in his armchair, wearing a dressing gown and plucking at the strings of the Stradivarius. He raised and eyebrow at his brother's words, "What I'm doing? I'm not doing anything. I've got a life now, as you suggested." he said.

"The problem is that you're just sat here!" Sherlock snapped, "My workload has risen uncontrollably in the time that you've been lounging around!"

"You asked me to stop helping you and to get a life." Mycroft replied, "Therefore, you can handle your workload problem yourself."

"Haven't you seen the news? The government is imploding!" John exclaimed from beside Sherlock.

"Sorry, John. I don't have time for the news anymore. I'm oh-so-busy with my new life. I compose all morning and workout all afternoon. You should try it, it's remarkably relaxing to do nothing at all." Mycroft replied with a smirk.

"Fine. I apologize. I need your help, I admit it. Now will you sort this mess out?" Sherlock asked with a sigh.

"Apology accepted, brother dear." Mycroft replied with a slight smile, pulling his mobile out from the pocket of the dressing gown. He phoned Anthea and sorted a whole month of problems within just a few minutes.

"Thank you." Sherlock said once Mycroft had put his phone away, glancing at John.

"It's no problem." Mycroft replied, getting to his feet and walking through the house to the music room. He placed the violin down on its stand before he turned to leave the room.

"I told John about your musical talents." Sherlock said, leaning against the door-frame, "You are a violin virtuoso, but you are also a virtuoso in both chaos and order."

"I'll take that as a compliment." Mycroft responded.

"It is a compliment. I took you for granted and I apologize." Sherlock said sincerely before he walked back to John in the hallway.

"Time to go?" John asked, smiling as the sound of a violin filled the house.

"Yes, let's go. Disaster averted for another day." Sherlock agreed, glancing back before he left the house, shutting the door behind him.


End file.
